


May the Sea Foam Milk

by cavaleira



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Murder Husbands, Pining, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Reunions, Time Skips, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavaleira/pseuds/cavaleira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years after the fall, Will goes to great lengths to find his way back to Hannibal again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May the Sea Foam Milk

Will Graham breathes in the sharp bite of salt in the air as the ocean wind ruffles his shaggy hair. Standing on the boat’s deck, Will’s eyes drink in the sunset over the water, all the saturated reds, purples, and yellows that make it look like the sky has been set on fire. He is loose limbed, letting his body shift with the boat’s steady rocking. It feels good to be moving after three years at a standstill, three years in a small cell with only his imagination for company. As vivid as his imagination is, there are some things it simply cannot recreate. There’s a singular vibrancy in the feeling of freedom, like shifting from staid black and white to brilliant technicolor.

When he gets to Argentina he’ll need to ditch this boat and make his way to the safe deposit box he hopes is still there, one that will give him another identity and access to enough money to get him to his next destination. Until then, he opts for enjoying his newfound freedom and hoping that he’s continued to outsmart the authorities and they aren’t waiting for him when he disembarks.

A decade ago he was sailing halfway around the world to find Hannibal and it’s almost funny to find himself in the same position now. But then again, his relationship with Hannibal has hardly been linear. It’s less of an incline and more of a spiral staircase, always ascending yet also circular and repetitive.

Will goes into the cabin and sits down at the little table inside. He eats a simple meal of bread and a can of beans that reminds him of his childhood. He laughs as he imagines Hannibal’s look of disgust. The meal is far from gourmet, but it tastes better than prison food, mainly because he chose it for himself. It’s good to have choices again, even if they’re not particularly good ones.

While Will eats he rifles through a brown leather wallet and its contents: loose change, several twenties, two credit cards, a passport, a Florida driver’s license, and a coffeeshop rewards card that’s a few stamps away from getting a free drink. These things all belong to Darryl Thomas, the unlucky owner of this boat who is now somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.

It took Will nearly two weeks to get out of the US. He traveled south and laid low, stole cars and money when needed, staying in cheap motels and paying cash.

In Florida, he’d gotten lucky.

Will had overheard a man having a heated phone conversation with his soon-to-be ex-wife.

_“Fine. You can have the goddamned house, Gina, but fuck you if you think you’re gonna take my boat…”_

He’d gone on to talk about how he didn’t give a fuck about their upcoming court date and was going to sail away for awhile. Will followed him to the docks, quickly broke his neck and weighed him down to guarantee that he’d sink. It will be some time before he is missed. It will probably be even longer before his body is found, if at all.

Will doesn't feel as badly about it as he probably should. His morals are far more flexible than they were before, especially where Hannibal is involved. Darryl Thomas isn’t the first person he’s killed for Hannibal and he probably won’t be the last.

They had four good years together before it all went to hell, unequivocally the best four years of Will’s life. It’s not as if they went on a killing spree or that they even killed people that often. They had rules, compromises they both made, an understanding that was hard won and worth every moment of agony they’d fought through to achieve it. But they got cocky. Careless. That’s why Will is taking the long way around now. He can’t afford to make a mistake and get caught again. Neither one of them can.

When night falls, Will gets ready for bed, brushes his teeth and strips down to his underwear. Before he climbs into his bunk, he stands in front of the old world map tacked up on a wall and traces the ley lines with his fingers. He wonders where in the world Hannibal is and what route he might be taking. As Will falls asleep that night, he hears echoes of Hannibal’s last words to him before they were torn apart. These words guide his every move now, like a lighthouse leading his lonely boat to shore.

***

 

_A trainee. A fucking trainee._

_Will wonders what the fuck Jack was thinking, but it’s a futile question. Jack never learns. Rather than come here himself, he’s sent soon-to-be Agent Clarice Starling to ask for Will’s help with the Buffalo Bill case. Will has been less than cooperative so far; he’s never claimed to be good company._

_Starling soldiers on anyway, determined but also polite and professional. Will thinks Hannibal would probably like her. “Women are dying. You used to care about things like that.”_

_“I do. But my priorities have… shifted.” Starling is holding out on him and Will wants to know why. He remains silent, content to wait her out. After all, he has nothing but time on his hands._

_“I’ve spoken with Hannibal Lecter about the case.”_

_Will raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he says. He schools his features and keeps his voice casual and steady, careful to conceal the way he’s starving for any mention of Hannibal. It’s been almost four years since they last saw each other and Will feels his absence down to the marrow of his bones._

_“He gave us a lead and we followed it to a storage locker with a severed head inside, one belonging to one of Dr. Lecter’s former patients. The dead man was apparently one of Buffalo Bill’s earlier victims.”_

_“So Hannibal gave this killer a helping hand.” Starling nods and Will shakes his head and laughs softly. “He’s almost as good at collecting murderers as Jack Crawford is at collecting profilers he leads like lambs to the slaughter.”_

_Starling tilts her head to the side and stares at Will. “Do you really have more animosity toward Agent Crawford than you do toward Dr. Lecter?” There’s no malice in her words, only curiosity and a desire to understand._

_Will stares back at her and despite a slight flinch, Starling holds her ground. Will lets his empathy take hold as he sizes her up, cataloging her demeanor, her mannerisms and facial expressions. The cheap shoes and residue of a West Virginia accent she can’t quite shake, and what they tell him about her upbringing. Her ambition and desperate need to prove herself and a commitment to doing the right thing that is both stupid and admirable. Will gathers each bit of information, reading her life like a seer sifting though tea leaves. He feels no need to exploit this knowledge for now, but who knows what the future will hold._

_“What do you think?” Will finally asks._

_Starling pauses for a long moment, carefully considering her words. “I think that in your eyes, Agent Crawford separating you two is a more unforgivable sin than anything Dr. Lecter has done to you.”_

_“An interesting conclusion,” Will says. “Although I wouldn’t necessarily recommend looking at the world through my eyes, I doubt you’ll like what you see. What have you been told about me?”_

_“Not much, just the same things anyone at the Academy learns. That you were the most gifted profiler the FBI has ever seen, so good at your job that you lost yourself and your empathy disorder pushed you over the edge.”_

_“Ah yes,” Will says sarcastically, “that I stared into the abyss and it stared back at me. And that Hannibal is the monster who seduced me into a world of darkness and depravity.”_

_“Essentially.”_

_“That’s what you’ve been told, but what do you believe?”_

_“I don’t believe in fairytales, Mr. Graham.”_

_Will laughs. “Good. There may be hope for you yet, Agent Starling. Now enough with the niceties. Politeness is one of Hannibal’s areas of expertise, not mine. Tell me what you want from me.”_

_“Dr. Lecter seems to think you have a special insight into the case and can figure out what we’re missing.”_

_“Let me guess: he’s refused to say anything more unless you speak to me and open up a line of communication between us, and the FBI is just desperate enough to agree to his terms.”_

_Starling frowns. “Yes.”_

_Will smiles and shakes his head, thinking fondly of Hannibal. “A quid pro quo,” he says. Starling’s eyes briefly narrow at his words._

_“So what did Hannibal say? What was his message to me?”_

_“He said he misses you. He visits the Uffizi Gallery every day and sees you there by his side.”_

_Will’s breath hitches and his longing for Hannibal cuts through him like a knife. “Thank you,” Will says in a gruff voice as he looks away. He revisits that memory often, too. The next time he does will be all the more bittersweet with the knowledge that Hannibal is a few hundred miles away doing the same thing._

_Will sighs. “Let me see the file.”_

_Starling slips the bulky file into the meal slot of Will’s glass cage. He picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his eyes scanning over police reports and gruesome photographs._

_“Look it over, I’ll come back this evening and we can discuss it.”_

_“Agent Starling?” Will says as he looks up from the file and meets her eyes, letting his gaze bore into her._

_“Yes?”_

_“Hannibal said something else, didn’t he.” It’s not a question and Will doesn’t bother making it into one._

_“No, that was all,” Starling says, the tiniest moment of hesitation before she speaks, so minuscule that most people would not have noticed it. Starling is good, even better than she knows. But Will is not just anybody. Will can slip into anyone’s head, he was even able to weave his way through the gordian knot of beautiful carnage that is Hannibal Lecter’s mind. Clarice Starling doesn’t stand a chance._

_“And here I thought we were getting along so well. It’s very rude to lie, Agent Starling.”_

_“I’ll be back soon, Mr. Graham,” she says, her heels clacking against concrete as she walks away._

_“He mentioned something about the sea foaming milk, didn’t he?” Will calls out. Starling visibly stiffens, enough that it can’t be ignored or played off this time. Jack must have told Starling to hold her tongue, worried that Hannibal might be trying to send Will some kind of coded message._

_She turns around to face him, lips pinched and eyes alight with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. “How did you know?”_

_Will shrugs. “I know Hannibal.”_

_“What does it mean?”_

_“It’s not important,” Will lies. Jack was right to be worried; these are by far the most important words Will has heard in years. “Now leave me alone to look at this file.”_

_As Starling walks away, a tension Will has been carrying coiled inside him for years finally unfurls. He doesn’t know exactly what Hannibal is up to, but Starling’s visit was a call to arms, asking Will to seize the opportunity that’s been presented to them. Will decides that the best thing to do is follow Hannibal’s example. It’s fitting, considering how often they’ve been mirrors for each other. So he will gather information, exploit any weakness the FBI displays, and refuse to deal with them unless they offer something in return every time. He will trust that these years of separation have not lessened his connection with Hannibal and they are still in tune enough to play this game and win._

_Will thinks about what Starling said, how she doesn’t believe in fairytales. He never has either, but Hannibal’s message makes him wonder if now may be time to start._

***

 

The afternoon sun feels blessedly good against Will’s skin as he stretches out on the deck of his new boat, one he was able to buy in Argentina. He’s been taking every opportunity to revel in its warmth after years of being locked away. At this rate, he’ll probably have a healthy tan by the time he sees Hannibal again. Will sighs as he stares out at the endless sky. He’s far enough away now that Argentina is no longer even a fleck on the horizon, but he still has a long way to go before he reaches Cape Town.

He’s never been particularly good at relaxing and that hasn’t changed, but being out on the water now is a welcome reprieve from the intensity of the Buffalo Bill case and the long con he and Hannibal managed to run from afar, despite very limited communication. There were days where Will thought maybe they were both crazy and that leveraging the case to help them escape was a pipe dream.

In the end, a senator’s daughter being taken was what made all the difference. High-profile victims and political pressure often lead to desperate, stupid decisions, such as kowtowing to Hannibal’s refusal to cooperate with the investigation unless he was permanently moved to the same facility as Will, and Will’s insistence that he needed to visit the actual kidnapping site to work his magic. Will hadn’t actually seen Hannibal in the midst of the ensuing chaos, they passed each other like ships in the night.

When Will was on land, he would check the papers every day, flooded with relief every time he read that Hannibal was still at large. He hopes that nothing has changed since he began the second leg of his trip.

Will reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tabloid clipping he’s been carrying around with him. It’s from an issue of Tattlecrime he shoplifted before leaving the US. Though the article’s substance was vile as ever, Freddie had actually picked a really nice picture of Hannibal from their trial. Hannibal looks stunning with his sharp features, the clean lines of his bespoke suit, and the subtle hint of wry amusement in his eyes at the media circus unfolding around him. Though the circumstances were far less than ideal, Hannibal always reveled in the recognition of his work.

Will pours himself a glass of whiskey and takes a swig. The pleasant burn settles in the back of his throat as he closes his eyes and lets the ocean carry him onward.

***

 

_The jury foreperson is still speaking, but Will stopped listening after the words “guilty” left her lips._

_It’s not a surprise._

_It’s been a high probability since they were captured. Will’s knows his sentence is likely less harsh than Hannibal’s. He hated it, but their lawyers were able to make him sympathetic, painting him as a tragically unstable man who was manipulated by a monster. The prosecution was unable to nail him for murder charges, instead having to settle for aiding and abetting._

_None of that matters now. What matters is the warmth of Hannibal standing beside him, the intensity of his gaze and the conversation they are having without words. The specific details of the sentences levied against them pale in comparison to one key factor: now that the trial is done, their days of being held in adjoining cells in the BSHCI are over. They will be moved to separate facilities and may never see each other again._

_Will doesn’t think twice about wrapping his arms around Hannibal and pulling him close. Hannibal returns his embrace with a fierceness that rattles Will’s bones and nearly breaks his heart. The world is watching and there’s a cacophony of noise around them, but Will tunes everything out except Hannibal. They are untouchable. They are gone from this place, safe together in the vast halls of their shared memory palace._

_Hannibal’s breath is warm when he whispers in Will’s ear. “If alive, may the sea foam milk.”_

_They pull away enough to look each other in the eyes and share a moment of perfect communion. Will lets the words settle under his skin and hopes they will be enough to keep him warm in the days to come._

***

 

One thing that hasn’t changed between imprisonment and freedom is that Will has plenty of time to think. It’s the particular quality of those thoughts that has shifted, away from bleak gray into something brighter. Being out here in his boat has given him a more profound sense of solitude. It has also given him something to look forward to for the first time in years.

Though he never loses focus on his goal, his days at sea all blend and roll into each other like waves. He remembers entire conversations with Hannibal, both real and imagined. He wonders what happened to the home in France where they spent most of their time, what happened to the dogs and if they found a good home. He thinks of Minka, their little brown terrier who adored Hannibal, and Hannibal’s bewilderment at her affection toward him.

Will used the internet in Cape Town a few days ago before setting off on this last leg of his trip. From what he could gather, Hannibal has not been caught and interest in the case is winding down. That’s one of the benefits of the 24-hour news cycle. Hannibal is not the sailor Will is; he probably found another way out of the US, maybe made his way through Mexico. It’s possible that Chiyoh tracked him down and came to his aid.

 _Or maybe_ , a vindictive little voice in Will’s head whispers, _someone else got to him first._

There are plenty of people out there who want Hannibal dead and more than a few of them have the financial resources to make it happen. Hannibal could be dead and buried already and Will would never know. Assassins don’t exactly send sympathy cards to the loved ones of people they kill.

But this train of thought will get him nowhere. Will breathes in the salty air, lets it clear his head. He reminds himself that he is at sea, but not lost. Never lost.

***

 

 _Will’s stomach dips and all the air rushes out of his lungs as he hits the water, the sheer force of it jarring his body_ _with a painful shock to his limbs, as if he’s been struck by lightning. Before he can even take a breath, the ocean swallows him whole and carries him down into icy cold depths. Water pressure bears down on him and though his body is sinking, his fear only rises, heart thudding painfully as he thrashes around._

 _He’s reaching out, searching, grasping desperately for someone’s hand_ , _but there is nothing and no one. There is only cold and darkness and the muffled sound of his own screams._

_Will wakes up in a panic, heart racing and brow damp with cold sweat as he sits up in bed. After a moment of disorientation, the dream fades enough for him to remember where he is. His name is Will Graham and it’s the middle of the fucking night. He’s in the Maldives, in bed with Hannibal in the private villa by the sea where they’ve been spending the last couple months._

_It's been over a year since they fell into the Atlantic, slowly healing their physical wounds and the emotional scars they’ve inflicted on each other over the years._ _Rebuilding their relationship has been like_ _sifting through pieces of a torn up jigsaw puzzle and discovering that miraculously, the pieces have all warped in complementary ways and still manage to fit together._

_“Will? Are you alright?”_

_“Yeah, just… bad dream.”_

_Hannibal turns on the light and just the sight of him makes Will feel more grounded, pulling away the vestiges of his dream like cobwebs. Will loves Hannibal like this, with his hair mussed and eyelids heavy with sleep, his lips still reddened from kisses. He loves the singular brightness that flickers in Hannibal’s eyes the moment he truly registers Will’s presence, the moment they both experience the unparalleled pleasure of seeing and being seen._

_“Do you want to tell me about your dream?” Hannibal asks as he rolls over onto his side to face Will._

_Will shrugs before lying down beside Hannibal. “There’s not much to tell. I was drowning.” Hannibal looks at Will with curious, quietly expectant eyes. It was not truly the drowning that upset Will and they both know it._

_Will swallows hard. “I was drowning and I was alone.”_

_“You are never alone, Will.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Do you?” Hannibal asks as he reaches out and laces their fingers together. Will nods and gives Hannibal’s hand a light squeeze._

_“And yet you are still unsettled. What can I do to bring you peace of mind?”_

_A few years ago, Will would have laughed at Hannibal asking him such a question. Tonight he only pushes Hannibal onto his back, sighs softly, and lays his head on Hannibal’s chest. “Just…talk to me. Tell me something,_ anything _.”_

_Hannibal slips an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him closer. Comfortable silence settles between them as Will breathes in the scent of Hannibal’s skin and waits to see what that beautifully terrible mind will come up with._

_“Are you familiar with the Lithuanian folktale of Egle, the Queen of the Serpents?”_

_“No.”_

_“Perhaps I’ll tell you then.”_

_“Sure,” Will says, and can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all._

_“What?”_

_“Nothing. I just can’t believe this is my life now, lying in the arms of a serial killer and being told a bedtime story,” Will says, but his words don’t come out as snide as he intended. Instead he sounds equal parts pleased and incredulous, like a man who cannot believe his good fortune. It’s discomfiting, but that’s par for the course when it comes to his relationship with Hannibal._

_“Truth is often stranger than fiction.”_

_“Yeah. Especially where you and I are concerned.” Will tilts his head up and nudges Hannibal._ “ _Come on, tell me your story.”_

_“Very well. A long time ago,” Hannibal begins, “there once lived a family with nine sons and three daughters. Egle was the youngest of the sisters, and the most beautiful. The girls went for a swim one evening and left their clothes upon the shore. When they returned, Egle found a serpent in her clothes. The serpent spoke to her, asked for her hand in marriage in exchange for her clothing.”_

_“That sounds like a pretty raw deal.”_

_Hannibal inclines his head. “Marrying a snake seemed absurd, but she wished for him to leave her be and she said yes.”_

_“I’m sure that ended well,” Will mutters._

_“Oh, on the contrary,” Hannibal says as his mouth curves into a sly smile. “Several days later, a grand carriage pulled by snakes came to take Egle away. Her parents did not want to let her go and so they tried twice to trick the snakes, but it was to no avail. In the end, Egle left to fulfill her promise. She was brought to the seashore, but she was not greeted by a snake at all. Her betrothed turned out to be a handsome man named Zilvinas, the King of the Serpents.”_

_Will snorts. “Of course he was.”_

_“He took her to his kingdom under the ocean and there they lived happily for many years, with their three sons and a daughter. Eventually, Egle grew homesick and wanted to take her children ashore to visit her family. Zilvinas agreed, but only if she could complete three impossible tasks he set out for her.”_

_Will rolls his eyes. “Sabotaged at every turn.”_

_“With the help of a sea witch, Egle was able to complete them. Her husband kept his word, and Egle and their children went up to the surface for a visit. They were to stay only for nine days and upon returning call for him: ‘Zilvinas, dear Zilvinas… if alive, may the sea foam milk. If dead, may the sea foam blood.’_

_Egle’s brothers did not want to see their sister returned to the ocean, and so they plotted to kill Zilvinas. Knowing that their sister would never betray her husband, they sought to intimidate her children instead.”_

_Tension settles into Will’s bones and he hangs on Hannibal’s every word because he knows that this is the inevitable turning point. Contrary to what Disney would have people believe, fairytales rarely end with a simple happily ever after._ _They are rife with bloodshed and misfortune, but these things are familiar to Will to the point where they’re oddly comforting, a fact that Hannibal knows very well._

_“The sons were older and held out under the pressure of their uncles’s demands, but the little girl was young and frightened and revealed the phrase. With this information, Egle’s brothers carried out their mission to slay Zilvinas. When Egle returned to the shore and called out for her husband, the sea foamed red with blood and she knew._

_Egle was heartbroken and furious. She was so aggrieved by the loss of her husband and her brothers’ terrible betrayal that she turned herself and her children into trees. Her sons became an oak, ash, and birch tree, and her daughter a quaking aspen that blows with the slightest wind. When that was done, she turned herself into a spruce tree near the sea, so that she might mourn her loss forever.”_

_A charged silence hangs over them and Will finds himself at a loss over what to say. In the end he looks at Hannibal and offers him a wry smile._ _“I should have known you wouldn’t tell me a story that doesn’t have murder in it. So what’s the moral of the story? Stand by your man?”_

_“Morals are ultimately subjective. Stories have whatever meaning we choose to give them.”_

_“What meaning would you ascribe to this one?”_

_Hannibal is silent for several moments, to the point where Will wonders if he’s going to answer at all. “That tragedy has no care for our intentions and some separations cannot be survived.”_

Abandonment requires expectation _, Will doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to._

_“What meaning would you give it, Will?” Hannibal’s voice would sound perfectly steady to anyone else, but Will can hear the barest hint of unease beneath the calm surface. Will thinks of Egle then, of the trickery that brought her down to the depths of the ocean and the life of contentment she’d unexpectedly found herself living._

_“That we can find fulfillment in unpredictable places, no matter how fleeting our time there might be,” Will says. “And that you think of yourself as royalty.”_

_Hannibal smirks and his chest shakes with quiet laughter that echoes pleasantly in Will’s ear. “Go to sleep, Will.”_ _Hannibal presses a chaste kiss to Will’s lips, but Will deepens it and lets it linger._

_“Unless you’d prefer to stay up?” Hannibal asks as he raises an eyebrow suggestively. Will wonders if it’s an honest question or a terrible joke, but with Hannibal it’s probably both._

_Will answers him with another kiss, and then another and another until they are both breathless. The heady scent of arousal fills the room and Will gets lost in the slide of bare skin, of rough stubble and soft lips._ _When they survived and went on the run together, Will never imagined this could be something he wanted. Now he revels in Hannibal’s tightly coiled strength and roughened hands, gasping and moaning as they move together like shadows in the dim light._

 _When Hannibal finally pushes inside him, Will tugs him closer, wraps his legs around his waist and demands_ more _,_ deeper, harder.  _Hannibal gives him everything, fucks him deep and slow until they meld into each other, until all thoughts of drowning alone are pushed out by the sounds of pleasure, of racing heartbeats and crashing waves outside their window._

_Slow undulations gradually build in intensity until the bed is shaking with the force of Hannibal’s thrusts. Will arches his back and cries out, making Hannibal hiss as he rakes nails down his back. Heat pools in the base of Will’s spine until it overtakes him entirely and he’s shaking with the force of his orgasm with Hannibal following him over the edge._

_They collapse in a boneless heap for several moments before Will half-heartedly shoves at Hannibal to move, grumbling about him being too heavy. Will’s limbs are languid and warm, and he’s certain he’ll be able to sleep well now. He yawns and stretches out like a lazy cat, basking in the warmth of Hannibal’s gaze upon him. In short order, Hannibal cleans him up and pulls him close under the covers._

_“You spoil me,” Will murmurs._

_“And I thoroughly enjoy it.”_

_Hannibal turns off the light and the room descends into darkness. Will can barely keep his eyes open, but there’s a nagging sensation in his head that keeps him from entirely succumbing to sleep, something he needs to say to Hannibal before he forgets._

_“There’s no land for me to go back to, Hannibal. I’d stay under the waves and drown a thousand times over as long as you were with me.”_

_He falls asleep before he hears Hannibal's reply._

***

 

It’s dusk when Will finally arrives. The taxi boat that dropped him off speeds away into the distance as Will makes his way across the beach, sand crunching under his feet with every step. He carries nothing with him but a wallet with fake identification, a set of skeleton keys, and the clothes on his back.

Will stops dead in his tracks and takes a deep breath when he stands in front of the house at last. With its deep blue exterior, thatched roof, and wooden porch it’s just how he remembered it, this little house where Hannibal once told him a fairytale in the middle of the night. The lights are on and though there are months and years and miles between here and Wolf Trap, the image offers him a familiar sense of safety.

When Will unlocks the door and steps inside, Hannibal is sitting in the living room with a glass of red wine in his hand. Their eyes meet and there it is, that moment of recognition that fills Will with breathless joy. Hannibal’s eyes are shining as he smiles at Will.

“Ah, look at what the sea has brought me.”

Will can’t speak. All he can do is stare.

There are more lines on his face, more gray in his hair, and his skin is slightly sallow. But he still has the same broad shoulders and self-possessed posture, his eyes still flicker with razor sharp intelligence and curiosity, the predator always lurking behind the veil that can transform the banal into something savagely beautiful. He’s still absolutely, irrevocably Hannibal and seeing him is like coming home.

Hannibal sets his wine glass down and gets to his feet. Will watches Hannibal and watches Hannibal watch him, finding it equally enjoyable to see Hannibal and to see himself through Hannibal’s eyes. There’s so much Will wants to say, _years_ worth of conversation waiting to burst free, but no words come out except Hannibal’s name. Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed and he exhales with the obvious pleasure of hearing his name on Will’s lips after so many years, like a cherished piece of music.

Will’s legs carry him across the room as if by their own accord and before he knows it, he’s wrapping his arms around Hannibal in a crushing embrace, burying his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck and breathing him in. Will can’t stop himself from shaking and he doesn’t bother to try. Hannibal swallows hard and clings to him. “I worried that I might never see you again, Will. That all I would have are memories.”

“I know.”

They pull away just enough to stare into each other’s eyes. Hannibal reaches out to stroke his fingers over the faded scar on Will’s cheek.

“Only a few miles of night, the drenched distances of the country dawn, a handful of earth separated us. The transparent walls that we did not cross, so that life, afterward, could put all the seas and the earth between us, and we could come together in spite of space, step by step seeking each other from one ocean to another.”

Will’s eyes prick with tears as he truly laughs for the first time in years. “I see you’re still a pretentious asshole. God, I missed you so fucking much.”

Hannibal gives a quiet laugh of his own and Will leans in and presses their lips together. The kiss is graceless and clumsy and tastes of wine and the salt of their mingled tears. It’s perfect. When they pull apart, Will grips Hannibal by the shoulders and stares into his eyes.

“If they find us again, they won’t take us alive this time. Promise me that.” His voice is low and fierce, almost a growl.

“I promise. We will not be separated again.” The vehemence in Hannibal’s tone echoes that of Will’s own.

“Good.” Will smiles and he can breathe easier now, like a heavy weight has been lifted from him.

He doesn’t know how their story will end, if they will pass away quietly of illness and old age or go down in a blaze of glory and drown together in a sea awash with blood. They are lodestones, always drawn to each other without regard for what may stand in their way. This journey has only re-affirmed what Will has known for years: they will travel any distance and gladly pay any price to keep this.

Will pulls Hannibal close and kisses him again. He loses himself in the slide of their lips, in the firmness of Hannibal’s body pressed against his own. He loses track of anything outside the two of them in this moment and the years of separation blow away like so much dust. All the boundaries between them blur and as always, Will both loses and finds himself in Hannibal.

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, at the end Hannibal is quoting Pablo Neruda (because of course he is).


End file.
